ACT 39: Roger the Domineus
by Galaxy1001D
Summary: Dorothy and Paradigm City must find a way to continue despite the loss of Roger Smith. THE BIG O: SEASON THREE
1. Memories are Like Nightmares

_The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Bandai Visual, Sunrise, and Cartoon Network._

THE BIG O:

ACT 39

ROGER THE DOMINEUS

 _Big-O!_

 _Big-O! Big-O! Big-O!_

 _Big-O!_

 _Big-O! Big-O! Big-O!_

 _Cast in the name of God!_

 **Negotiator**

 _Ye not the guilty!_

 **Android**

 _We have come to terms!_

 **Butler**

 _Big-O!_

 **Officer**

 _Big-O!_

 _Big-O! Big-O! Big-O!_

 _Big-O!_

 _Big-O! Big-O! -O! -O! Big-O!_

 _Chapter One: Memories are Like Nightmares_

 _Forty years ago a terrible disaster took place. The world as we knew it ended. The world's end was so thorough that the survivors couldn't even say what the world used to be._

"Major, you've broken formation!" a woman's voice came over the earphones in his bomber hat. "Major come in! Dammit Roger, answer me!"

It was the end of the world. The enemy advanced too quickly and was now in the city. Roger worked the pedals of his megadeus to make the giant robot move faster. "Come on, Big O!" he grunted. "Hurry! We've got to get to the convention center! Hurry! Ahh!"

One of the enemy had seized the Big O by the arm and was cutting through the relatively slender upper arm of the black megadeus. "Leggo!" Roger growled as he activated the purple particle beam weapons in Big O's eyes. A missile from a purple megadeus called Big Rex hit his attacker and exploded, sending the Big O staggering forwards but free. "Thanks Mike," Roger muttered to himself. "That's one I owe you."

Roger frowned. The left arm wasn't responding. No matter; he still had the right. There it was: the convention center. It was no good. A white amorphous mass was oozing out of the bottom floor of the seven story high hotel. There was no escape now. A lumbering behemoth lurched from behind the hotel and shot arced forks of electricity at Big O.

Roger screamed as he pulled the joystick back along the arm on his right. He let go of the joystick as it disappeared into the arm and was replaced by second one with a basket hilt and trigger. With an animal grunt he brought the joystick back to the front of the curving arm and pulled the trigger.

Big O's forearm split open like a banana to reveal four massive cannons arranged around the robot's fist. With a squeal and a whine the cannons rotated around the megadeus' spinning hand as bolts of lavender energy poured out the cannons in a thundering crescendo of fire.

His foe concentrated the electricity on the Big O's open forearm and arcs of electricity played across the surface as tiny explosions of smoke emerged from the spinning guns. A warning chime was heard in the red cockpit as the purple pulses quit but they had done their job. The enemy was on the ground and would fight no more. Roger was free to advance on the hotel.

As he watched a roof hatch opened and a tiny human form dashed along the rooftop patio towards him. It was a slender redheaded girl in a white dress. "Roger!" she cried as she waved her hands. "It's me! It's me!"

"Dorothy!" he smiled as he marched the Big O forward. "Dorothy, I'm here!" He frowned as he pulled on the joysticks. "Dammit, the arms don't seem to want to work! Hold on Dorothy! I'm going to move Big O closer!"

The red hatch on the megadeus' collar rose to cover Big O's head and exposed the control room as he moved Big O right up against the damaged hotel. The face of the building was crumbling as the white amorphous blob seeped through the structure's cavities and expanded. Pretty soon the hotel would collapse into a heap of debris, but if Roger hurried he could save at least _one_ occupant.

The roof of the hotel was almost eight feet above the floor of Big O's control room but it was close enough. The curved arms rose around him as he got out of the cockpit and hurried through the control room to the balcony that had been created by the space in the Big O's chest. "Come on, Dorothy! Jump!" he ordered as he held his arms up to her. "Don't worry, I'll catch you!"

The girl's face was pale as she nodded back to him. "All right," she said as she climbed over the three foot wall encircling the roof of the doomed hotel. "Here I come!" she announced as she leaped over the edge.

At that moment Big O tilted backwards sending Roger staggering back. Down below the white amorphous blob had seeped out of the building and was attacking Big O's legs! The ground wasn't level anymore and Roger wasn't at the controls to compensate. Big O was leaning backwards causing the distance for Dorothy's leap to be more than they calculated.

For Roger the scene was played out slowly in excruciating detail. He saw her hit the edge of the entryway, her feet desperately trying to find a foothold as her hands searched in vain for something to grab onto. When he leaped forward towards her, he slid forward on his chest as he saw her head and shoulders disappear over the side. "Dorothy!" he gasped as his hand grasped the very tips of her fingers. "Dorothy, I can't hang on! You've got to give me another hand! I…"

As she reached up with her free hand, her dainty fingers slipped out of his. Roger couldn't even hear himself screaming as he saw the terrified girl falling down to the malevolent ooze below, her white dress fluttering like a billowing ghost…

* * *

"Aaah!" Roger's eyes opened and he found himself in a strange chamber filled with control panels and people in white lab coats. His limbs were restrained and he was standing, but leaning on some kind of platform. Some kind of helmet was on his head that was removed with a pneumonic hiss. "Where? Where am I? Who are you people?" he shouted as he struggled against the metal bands pressing into his bare skin. "Dammit, I don't care who you are, let me go!"

One of the figures in a white lab coat was a short slender woman. Her skin was deathly white and her short bobbed hair was jet black. Fine cheekbones framed a sensual mouth that was adorned with blood red lipstick. Her left cheek was decorated with what looked like three beauty marks, but on closer examination were three six pointed stars. Her large heavily mascaraed eyes stared at him in a mixture of awe and glee. "Roger darling!" she grinned widely. "It's me! Do you recognize me sweetie?"

"No," he whined as the fight went out of him and he started crying. "Leave me alone," he gasped between sobs.

The happy look on her face vanished immediately. "Nerts," she snorted as she put her hands on her hips. "Oh well. The Union wasn't built in a day was it?"

* * *

Roger spent time with the doctors, but he also noticed that he was being watched, almost as if he was under guard. Guards weren't necessary. Where was he going to go anyway? He gave them his name, rank, and serial number and in return they gave him a number: Two. They asked him lots of questions, especially questions about how much he could remember. He thought that was grossly unfair: He couldn't remember squat. For Roger his past was riddled with holes like a piece of Swiss cheese. Like he cared. For some reason, he really didn't care about anything. Nothing seemed to matter but the girl from his memory.

Who _was_ that girl from his memory? Her name was Dorothy. Who was she to him? Wife? She looked kind of young, but it was possible. Sister? Not a chance. They didn't look like they were related. Fiancé? Judging from the amount of pain that thought caused him, fiancé was as good a guess as any. She felt like a fiancé. Thinking about her hurt, like she had been taken from him before they could be together. Fiancé. That had to be it. He wouldn't be surprised if she had died the day they were supposed to be married. That would be doing it just about right.

He wouldn't be surprised if Dorothy's ghost woke him from his nightmares every morning from now on. His last memory of her was in that white dress when she fell to her doom. He didn't know if he could ever look at a woman in white again. From now on his favorite color was black. If he ever got married and had a family, he'd force everyone in his house to wear black.

Nobody around here was dressed in white, thank God. The people here seemed to sport an amazing array of casually tacky fashion. Black and white in contrast seemed popular, as well as startling combinations of red, yellow, blue, green, white and orange. Both the men and the women favored pullover shirts, either in a solid color or with horizontal stripes. Slacks were the daywear of choice, either in beige or some other bland color. Shoes were either loafers or deck shoes. To a man they all seemed to wear hats. Caps of all types were popular as well as straw boaters. None of the men wore ties and none of the women wore skirts. It was as if Roger had waked up on another planet.

Roger himself favored clothing in that was as dark a monochrome as possible. He chose a dark jacket with a white trim over a dark sweater and beige pants. His torso and arms were clad in a dark shade of blue but it looked like black in dim light. He noticed that he wasn't the only one that liked this style. The one who seemed to be in charge dressed the same way. She was an attractive blonde in her late thirties or early forties who called herself Number Twelve. Well, she would be attractive if not for that eye patch. Roger still remembered his first real interview with her. It was held in a huge semicircular futuristic chamber where a she sat in a circular chair behind a control panel that bristled with buttons and flashing colored lights. Roger sat in a chair that had just come out of the floor at the push of a button on her control panel. Very James Bond. Or James Bond Villainess.

* * *

"Velcome Number Two," she greeted coldly.

"Number Two?" he couldn't help sniggering at her accent. "That me?"

"Jes," she frowned. It was obvious that she was not used to being treated so lightly. "For official purposes, everyone has a number. Yours is Two. You associate your old name too much vith your old life. Until you are given a new name, you'll be known as Number Two."

"Does that make you Number Twelve?" he asked her. "I notice that your badge has a twelve on it. Does that mean that you don't you have a name either?"

"None of us do until you get a new name," she announced. "Ve are all equal here. Von for all and all for von as zuh zaying goes. Do you understand?"

"Yeah I get it," he shrugged. "So vair… I mean _where_ are we? Nazi Germany? What's with the Gestapo act?"

"Number Two, do you know vair you are? You don't recognize zis place?"

"No," he shrugged again. "I just asked you. Didn't you hear me?"

"You don't remember us zen," she stared at him suspiciously. "You really don't remember. Or are you pretending?"

"Nope," he shook his head. "So what day is it anyway? How long have I been out?"

"Do you remember Paradigm City?"

"No," he crossed his arms and slouched in his chair. "What is it? An electronics store?"

"No it is a place vair the fascist state known as zuh Paradigm Corporation rules," she spat. "Zey have divided their people into zuh rich and zuh poor and zen decide to do away vith zuh poor by eliminating zem. It is a place ruled by a few and the vill of zuh people go unheeded. A city so corrupt zat zair own ruler decided to destroy it zo he could build a vorld zat exists only vithin his own mind. For zuh good of all mankind zey must be overthrown before humanity is destroyed."

"I think I see what's coming next," Roger sighed. "Look I've been a soldier but I just don't care anymore. Good luck with your revolution but I'm sorry. I just don't care. I wish I did. I wish I cared about anything right now but I'm afraid I just don't. You understand that don't you?"

"I understand," she said. "Zleep on it. Perhaps tomorrow you may zee zings differently, Number Two."

* * *

Of course that wasn't the end of it, but Roger hadn't expected it to be. The doctors subjected him to tests. They hooked him up to lie detectors and other monitors while showing him pictures loaded in a slide projector of people he guessed he was supposed to recognize.

"Who is this?" asked the doctor lady with the three stars on her cheek. Roger looked at a picture of a bald man with muttonchop sideburns and a horseshoe mustache. He was wearing a military uniform but with his hat off Roger could see that he was bald and one side of his dome was crisscrossed with scars.

"Don't know," Roger shrugged. "Never seen him before either."

"And this?" asked a second doctor, a man with a deep and commanding voice. Everything he said sounded vital, important, cosmic even. It was as if he was giving a speech or dictating military tactics. "Do you recognize this man, Major?" Roger was shown picture of an old man with thinning white hair and a handlebar moustache. The old man was in an archaic tuxedo and wore an eyepatch.

"That looks like Doctor Burg, aside of the eyepatch," Roger said. "I know his son, Norman."

"And this one?" the male doctor showed him a picture of a slender teenage girl. Her pale unlined face was crowned by brick red hair styled in a page boy haircut.

Roger sat up and paid attention. "Where did you get that one?" he growled.

"Do you know her?"

"Who cares?" he muttered bitterly. "She's dead."

"How did she die?" The man's voice was as grave and majestic as if God Himself was asking the question, but Roger refused to be impressed.

"None of your business." His tone indicated that the matter wasn't open to discussion. "I recognize her. Move on."

"How about this man?" He was shown a picture of a tall broad shouldered man in his early forties wearing a double breasted white suit.

"He looks kind of like Gordon Rosewater only ninety percent more evil," Roger quipped. "Who is he? His no good brother or something?"

"No that's his son, Alex," the slender woman in the while lab coat told him.

"Alex Rosewater?" Roger gasped. "Get out of town! Alex isn't _ten_! This guy's fifty if he's a day!"

"No one knows how old he is," the male doctor told him, "on account of everybody losing their memories forty years ago."

"Wait a second," Roger protested. "Forty years ago? What year is it? How long have I been out?"

"How long to do you think you've been out?" the lady doctor asked.

"That's what I've been asking you!" Roger's growled. "What's going on?"

"Forty years ago, everything we knew, was destroyed," the male doctor said in his rich deep voice. "The face of the planet changed forever. There isn't anyone who really knows what _did_ happen. The survivors were left without memories. In the aftermath, new societies were formed. Here in the Union everyone is equal but in Paradigm City the rich close themselves in giant domes while the poor must live without protection. Worse yet, we have reason to believe that the only the Paradigm Corporation has access to the lost Memories."

"Everyone lost their memories?" Roger repeated in disbelief. "Is this a joke? How could everyone lose their memories? It would take a nuralizer the size of a megadeus and even then it could only affect one city at the most! Even Big Venus couldn't… Everybody? Are you kidding me? What about birth records?"

"There aren't any from before forty years ago."

"What about computer records?"

"Not from before forty years ago," the male doctor shook his head.

"What about history books?" Roger insisted. "Newspaper clippings? Diaries? Are you making this up?"

"It's all true. Nobody knows who their ancestors were. Nobody even knows what the world looked like or what all the countries were called."

"Is the world ruled by a bunch of damn dirty apes or something?" Roger protested.

"Of course it is!" the lady doctor giggled. "They're called _men_!" When Roger and the other doctor looked at her she blushed and cleared her throat. "I guess you have to be a lady to appreciate that joke."

"Seriously, Major," the male doctor continued. "The world that was is gone. So far the only surviving humans can be found in the Union, Paradigm City, and a few villages settled by people who've wanted to leave that corrupt metropolis."

"Is the Union such a village?" Roger asked. "I mean, this is a nice little town, but it's hardly big enough to be a city, let alone a country. This place is one of the villages settled by refugees from Paradigm City isn't it?"

"We like to think of it as _The_ Village," the female doctor said proudly.

"Well it's great," Roger threw up his hands in surrender. "Aside of the fact that I can't get alcoholic beverages around here. Seriously, nonalcoholic beer? Who wants to drink that anyway?"

"You can't just drink your problems away you know," the lady doctor chirped.

"Why not?" Roger growled. "My memory's got so many holes in it that I can barely remember my name anyway."

"You can't just give up Major," the male doctor insisted. "Fate has given you an opportunity to make a difference for all mankind. You can make the difference and lead us all to a brighter future."

But Roger was no longer paying attention. "Who am I?" he moaned. "What happened to me? How did I even get here?"

* * *

On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:

 _Next:_ _Daily Affirmations_


	2. Daily Affirmations

_The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Bandai Visual, Sunrise, and Cartoon Network._

THE BIG O:

ACT 39

ROGER THE DOMINEUS

 _Chapter Two: Daily Affirmations_

 _Who am I? What happened to me? How did I get here? Those are the questions everyone in Paradigm City asked themselves when they lost their Memories forty years ago. And forty years later, I'm still asking myself those same questions._

So many lives gone, and so many left that were his responsibility. Only so many could be evacuated into the city's domes. The rest would go insane from the psychic assault from the planet's new masters. And when all was said and done it was his choice to decide who would live and who would die screaming from a shattered mind assaulted by the screamingly sentient, dumbly delirious, incredibly ancient and unknowable consciousness that dominated the world. A sickened, sensitive shadow writhing in hands that were not hands whirled blindly past ghastly midnights of rotting creation. Corpses of dead worlds with sores that were cities flashed past his vision while charnel winds brushed the pallid stars and made them flicker low. Beyond the worlds were vague ghosts of monstrous things; half-seen columns of unsanctified temples that rested on nameless rocks beneath space and reached up to dizzy vacua above the spheres of light and darkness. And through this revolting graveyard of the universe the muffled, maddening beating of drums, and thin, monotonous whine of blasphemous flutes from inconceivable, unlighted chambers beyond Time; the detestable pounding and piping whereunto dance slowly, awkwardly, and absurdly the gigantic, tenebrous ultimate gods—the blind, voiceless, mindless gargoyles that had existed before creation.

Roger Smith awoke to a hideous screeching, a din that sounded like a tone deaf cat being tortured. He was jolted awake, sweating and bleary eyed. He cried out and nearly fell out of his bed. Clutching his pillow, he stumbled to the door to discover the source of that awful noise.

Roger's bedroom was on the top floor of a white tower that was formerly a bank building. Right outside his room was a recessed parlor that looked out on the rooftop patio and dominated most of the top floor. Sitting at the piano scratching at a fiddle was a short and slender teenage girl whose brick red hair was trimmed short in a pageboy haircut.

"Dorothy!" Roger Smith roared, drawing himself to his full height, his long legs spread defiantly and his muscular chest puffed out in indignation. He ran a hand through his raven black hair in exasperation. "R Dorothy Wayneright! What are you doing? Are you malfunctioning?"

"I'm teaching myself how to play the violin," the little redhead explained, lifting her violet eyes from her music and turning her deathly pale face towards him. "It's that dead girl's Memories that allow me to play the piano. If I wish to be more than a robot girl created to replace her I will need to establish an identity of my own. That means learning new skills," she added in a matter of fact tone, not raising her voice to match Roger's ire.

"Do you have to do that right now?" the exasperated young man complained. "Waking up to your piano music is bad enough, but waking up to that racket is torture! Is an android really that tone-deaf?"

"You're lucky I'm not playing the bagpipes," the winsome android countered. She rose from the piano bench in an eerily fluid movement and set down her violin and bow so she could straighten her reddish black dress that had a white ruffled collar and formal white cuffs. A set of black stockings and shiny black shoes completed her ensemble. "You've been extremely difficult to awaken again, becoming lost in your own nightmares. I was wondering if we would have to take you to Big O and hook the cables under the chair to your spinal column again."

"I've been having nightmares alright," he snorted, "nightmares of squealing tires and cats being killed in the most painful ways. Why do you want to learn the violin so badly anyway?"

"I already told you," she replied. "I want to become my own person. Based off your own reaction, discovering that you're really somebody else is the worst thing that can happen to you. I was created to be that girl who died forty years ago. I'm not going to be her. I'm going to be me. And R Dorothy Wayneright will play the violin."

Roger put both hands over his face before dragging them down slowly. "It's too early for this."

"Actually it's too late," Dorothy corrected. "You overslept. I thought I made that clear Roger. Norman made breakfast for you. I'd join you, but I need to practice."

"You sure do," Roger groaned as he trudged to the bathroom.

* * *

After breakfast, Roger was standing in front of his full length mirror. He was dressed in black slacks, black dress shoes, and a crisp white shirt. He was putting on a black tie bisected by a grey stripe.

A knock was heard at the door. "Are you decent?"

"Yes," he grunted as he rolled his eyes.

The door opened and Dorothy glided into the room. "What are you going to do with your day Roger?"

"What's it to you?"

"Since our confrontation with Schwartzwald in that underwater city you haven't been very productive."

"No kidding," he snorted.

"It's time for our daily affirmations."

"Do we have to?"

"Yes," she said without emotion. "We both need it."

"Ladies first," he sighed.

She looked at the mirror. "I R Dorothy Wayneright, am a fully sentient being recognized as a citizen by the government of Paradigm City. I am a person, not a thing. I am not merely an imperfect copy of that girl who died forty years ago; I am a woman in my own right. My Memories are my own; they do not belong to her. I have my own dreams, hopes, and desires that have nothing to do with the girl I was based on or the wishes of my creator. I am capable of love and happiness and more importantly I am deserving of love and happiness. I am the rightful owner of my own person and possess free will. I am more than the sum of my programming, my life is my own. I am me, and I have a soul. I am R Dorothy Wayneright, not the late Dorothy Wayneright. That is my choice and that's who I am. Your turn Roger."

Roger let out a sigh.

"Roger, this is for your own good," she insisted without a trace of emotion.

"I Roger Smith am a unique individual in charge of my own destiny," he recited reluctantly. "It doesn't matter whether I'm a clone or if I'm the same man who founded Paradigm City forty years ago. It doesn't matter if my Memories are factual or if they were manufactured to give me peace of mind. What matters is that I run my life and decide what to do with it. I am not responsible for the actions of someone I can't remember; I am only responsible for my own. I am not the man who lived before; I am the man who lives right now. I owe nothing to the past; I am only responsible for what I do from now on. I am Roger Smith, the negotiator. That is my choice, and that's who I am. Happy Dorothy?"

"Not really," she replied. "I don't think you entirely believe it."

"If I don't believe it, what's the point of doing this every day?"

"If you really believe it, you should act like it," the android girl insisted. "You should get something done instead of hiding from the world like you're ashamed of it."

"Don't ask for something you'll regret," Roger muttered darkly.

* * *

Later Roger entered the robot repair bay to find Dorothy examining a headless figure lying on a tilting table that was specifically built to support her during maintenance and repairs. The tilting table was more of a rack, for it was a framework of bars that allowed access from underneath as well. The figure that Dorothy was examining was nude, it was slim and slender and its skin was as deathly white as Dorothy's own. The headless neck and the opening in its chest revealed that the body before her was as mechanical as her own: To all appearances, it appeared as if she was building another R Dorothy Wayneright.

"I'm surprised to see you in here," Roger remarked. "I was under the impression you refused to have anything to do with your evil twin. You told me you didn't even want to be in the same building, let alone touch her."

"I'm not," Dorothy replied. "This is my body. Did you forget? When I was shot in the chest you removed my head and placed it on the killer android we call 'RD' and hoped I wouldn't notice. I'm trying to get my real body operational again. One of us facing an identity crisis is more than enough."

"Um, oh," he grunted sheepishly. "Where's her head?" he asked.

Without a word, Dorothy pointed to a box that was on a shelf on the left hand wall.

"Thanks." Before long, Roger was sitting on a stool before a worktable, bending over RD's damaged and disassembled head. Every so often he would look at a large schematic that had been attached to a screen that was lowered from the ceiling like a big blackboard.

Surprisingly it was Dorothy who first broke the silence. "Roger, why are you trying to rebuild her CPU? Is she going to replace me or something?"

"Ugh! What a thought," Roger shivered before turning to face her. "No Dorothy, not at all. It's just when Beck removed your memory drive he removed your I/O peripherals also. We needed his help to put them back in. I want to use RD here to recreate your head so I can practice giving you brain surgery _without_ his help."

"If worse comes to worse you want to be able to move my programs and memories to a second Dorothy don't you?" she asked dryly. "If anything happens to me, you want to have a spare."

Roger blushed and looked away. "Does that make me a bad person?"

"No worse than my father," she conceded as she rose from her workbench with an eerily fluid movement. "If he didn't want a replacement for his daughter, I wouldn't exist."

Roger bowed his head with his back to her and was slumping forward. He straightened and took in a breath when he felt Dorothy put her slender arms around him and give him a delicate kiss on his ear. "What brought this on?" Roger asked in a surprisingly cheerful voice. Who knew that a hug and a tiny peck from the normally cold and distant Dorothy could raise his spirits so much? "I figured you'd hate the idea of a spare Dorothy."

"I've been unfair to you," the little android admitted before giving him a tiny kiss on the cheek. "I've been asking you to embrace your demons while I'm still wrestling with mine. The daily affirmations apply to both of us."

"I thought they just applied to me," he teased.

"Well they don't," Dorothy declared dryly. "They apply to both of us. And that means overcoming the things that are keeping me from leading a full life. I can't avoid the robotics lab because she's in here just like I can't be afraid to give you a hug because I might feel different than a human girl," she said as she gave him a playful squeeze for emphasis. "I have to assert myself and become a complete person or I'll never truly live."

"Good for you," he said without a hint of sarcasm. "Now if only…"

"Roger, let's go out," she decided. "Let's go out on a date. To the Nightingale. My membership was paid in advance and it's almost expired."

"The Nightingale?" Roger repeated in disbelief as he broke out of her embrace to stand up and turn to face her. "Why would you want to go there? That was the place where your father died! I can't imagine you ever wanting to go there again."

"Roger, I can't hide from my fears forever," she insisted. "I've let fear rule my actions for far too long. Even now, I can't seem to open up to you and display my feelings. Even when we're alone, I keep my behavioral protocols engaged and never let my emotions dictate my actions. That night my father took me to a club that had special meaning to the original Dorothy Wayneright. He hoped that the surroundings would allow the original girl's Memories to make my emotional reactions more natural."

"I have to admit, that evening, you seemed very… natural," Roger admitted. "But doesn't the memory of what happened to your father spoil it?"

"Roger, I'm an android, I have perfect recall," Dorothy pointed out. "The memory is spoiled no matter what. But we can make new memories and even if going back to that nightclub is pointless, at least it will mean that I have come to grips with my loss and am ready to move on." She held his hand and put her other hand on his chest while gazing up into his eyes. "You've been treating me as if I'm made of porcelain when I'm actually made of metal. Until I learn to get over myself and move on you won't even touch me. Roger I _really_ want to get over myself and move on. There are other things I want to do with my life besides mourning my father and wallowing in my fear. I deserve it. We deserve it."

"I think I understand," Roger murmured as he smiled sadly. The last time she allowed herself to feel like a human would was the night her father was killed before he eyes. Small wonder she never let herself go. And it was such a shame. Dorothy's mechanical body was fully functional, and user friendly enough for intimacies with a human. Dorothy was exploring herself and trying to muster the courage to invite Roger to explore her too. It was the most poignant way of flirting that Roger had ever…

"Besides, at least one of us should have the courage to face their fears," Dorothy announced as she let go of him. "If you won't face yours then perhaps I should go first."

"Excuse me?" Roger raised an indignant eyebrow.

"I may a frightened girl hiding from the world, but you Roger Smith are hiding from yourself," she countered. "That is much worse. You don't even trust yourself enough to determine what to do about the criminals currently in charge of the city. Until you can accept yourself, you're paralyzed, just like I am. I want to go on a date that doesn't end in my being shot and I have to get over myself and face my demons. A night at the Nightingale should fill both orders. I'm going to find something to wear," she decided as she turned to leave the room. "You can just wear one of your awful suits."

Her remarks stung and the frown on his face revealed just how much they did. She was right of course, but he didn't want to admit it. "What's the matter with my suits?" he asked, deciding to challenge the trivial offense.

"Nothing, except they make you look like you're going to a funeral," she called over her shoulder before turning to face him, "but don't worry about it. I'd prefer that one of us remained in their comfort zone. You've been on more dates than I have, you can be the comfortable one and just phone it in. You can challenge yourself next time."

"Androids aren't very spontaneous are they?" he muttered to himself after she left the room. He growled and put his hands in his pockets before he kicked a pebble that wasn't there. She was right. He was going against his instincts and avoiding his responsibilities, all because he didn't trust himself. That wouldn't do. It was time to take decisive action.

* * *

Soon Roger was at his desk and on the telephone. "Operator, I want to speak to Enoch Browning," he said into the mouthpiece. "Yes I know he's the chairman of the Paradigm Company. Don't worry; I'm sure he'll make time for me," he assured the operator. "He will if he knows what's good for him," he muttered to himself.

* * *

On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:

 _Next: Return to the Nightingale_


	3. Return to the Nightingale

_The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Bandai Visual, Sunrise, and Cartoon Network._

THE BIG O:

ACT 39

ROGER THE DOMINEUS

 _Chapter Three: Return to the Nightingale_

The Nightingale was a members-only nightclub outside the domes that was frequented as a guilty pleasure by wealthy dome dwellers. In Roger's opinion it was far too risqué of a place to take a girl as young as Dorothy Wayneright but Dorothy was an adult now and had an Android Identification Card issued by the city to prove it. She also had a membership card for the nightclub and was showing both of them to the man behind the counter in the Nightingale's foyer. "That's right, my name is Dorothy Wayneright," the little android clarified. "I'm a member of this club. I was only here once, but I haven't been here ever since my father died. You remember don't you? I was the girl who was held at gunpoint on the stage."

"Oh yes," the young man behind the counter acknowledged uncomfortably. "So sorry for your loss Miss Wayneright."

"Mister Smith here is my escort," she said. "I hope I'm allowed to bring a guest."

"Of course Miss Wayneright," the doorman nodded. "Have fun."

"Thank you," she nodded graciously before leading Roger into the club.

"That was pretty low, putting the doorman on the spot like that," Roger grinned as they entered a large dimly lit chamber filled with tables, chairs and private booths. A group of musicians were playing light jazz in front of a stage. "Playing the 'my father was murdered here and I was kidnapped' card was below the belt. You'd make a good negotiator."

"I didn't expect the people at the front door to be the type to recognize faces rather than identification cards," she replied as they were led to a private booth. "It's awkward coming back here after all this time, but it's satisfying being the one to get you into a club and not the other way around."

"What I can't understand is why that dress?" Roger said as they sat down opposite each other. "It looks just like the one you wore the night Beck kidnapped you and your father was killed. It's even the same shade of red. Of all the ones you could have worn why choose that one?"

"It's important that I face my demons," she announced quietly. "All of them. This is the dress I wore the night my father died. If I want to bury the past, I should do it up right. After tonight I'll probably never wear it again."

"That's a shame, it looks great on you," Roger toasted her with the glass of water the waiter had left for him. His eyes traveled over her. "Red dress, bare shoulders, black pearl necklace, black opera gloves, and black corsage. For someone who claims not to like the color black…" His voice trailed off when he noticed a look of distress in her eyes. On Dorothy's face, any expression at all was noticeable. "Dorothy?"

"This is harder than I thought it would be," she confessed quietly.

"That's why you didn't come alone," Roger assured her as he reached across the table to hold her hand.

"Yes," she said as she took his hand and glanced around the room. Roger noted that she paid special attention to the exits.

"It's all right," he assured her. "No one is going to come out of the woodwork and come after us."

"Don't tempt fate Roger," Dorothy warned him as she continued to check out the room.

"I can't believe it," Roger muttered as he released her hand and drew back, "a superstitious android."

"You were the one who said I was human in every way that matters," she retorted. "Although Doctor Earhart probably would call it a conditioned response rather than a superstition."

"Doctor Earhart? Oh, you mean Big Ear," Roger nodded. "I'm glad to see your weekly sessions with him aren't wasted. Did he suggest coming here?"

"He did," she acknowledged. "He thought that coming here would help me face my past and rekindle our relationship."

"Hmph," Roger grunted. In his opinion their relationship had barely gotten started. Or had it started over a year ago? "Come to think of it, I can't remember hearing you sing since the day we first met."

"What about our last date Roger?"

He shook his head. "You dragged me on stage with you. I haven't really been able to appreciate your dulcet voice since you sang on that very stage," he nodded indicating the darkened stage that dominated the far end of the room. "Care to try it again?"

"Roger, I don't think I can," she said as she looked away.

"Dorothy, you've faced bigger challenges than stage fright," Roger chided. "I thought you said that you didn't want your fear to control you anymore. I know you can be incredibly brave if you have to be, but you really should apply that courage to your day to day life if you want to live instead of just existing. You owe it to yourself to prove that you can overcome the memory of your father's death and admit that it's okay to enjoy the present instead of dwelling on the past. That it's okay to let yourself feel instead of denying your emotions. Come on, Dorothy, you know you have to go up there and sing sooner or later. If you don't do it now, you'll just have to come back some other time."

"What should I sing?"

"How about our song?" Roger suggested. "The one we first danced to as a couple? With your perfect memory you've got to know the words," he teased. "Come on, you want it to stick don't you? If you've come to excise your demons you might as well do this right."

Dorothy looked up at the stage and finally gave a single nod.

Getting permission and musical accompaniment for an impromptu performance wasn't difficult. All Roger had to do is talk to the musicians and pass some money around and they were perfectly willing to go along. Soon Dorothy was up on the stage. Unlike a human girl, Dorothy didn't squint with the blinding spotlight shining on her. Aside of standing perfectly still, she didn't seem nervous, but Roger knew better. Only when the music started did she allow herself to move.

" _Oh, my love, my darling, I've hungered for your touch, a long, lonely time,"_ she sang in a soft high pitched voice that sounded both fragile and lonely. " _Time goes by so slowly and time can do so much… Are you… still mine?  
I need… your love… I need your love… God speed… your love… to me…"_

Roger couldn't remember a time when he had ever heard a woman sing that song. She seemed so delicate, so vulnerable. It was hard to believe that she was made of metal.

" _Lonely rivers flow to the sea, to the sea, to the open arms of the sea,"_ the mechanical girl crooned. _"Lonely rivers sigh 'Wait for me, wait for me'. I'll be coming home, wait for me…"_

Even though Roger was smiling he could feel tears forming in his eyes. Did that little girl really have a hold of him that much? He was so proud of her; she was so brave, and so talented. There was no way to believe that she wasn't really a person.

" _Oh, my love, my darling, I've hungered, for your touch a long, lonely time,"_ she belted out with a power that seemed out of place for such a petite girl. _"Time goes by so slowly, and time can do so much. Are you… still mine?  
I need your love… I need your love… God speed… your love… to me…"_

When the musicians stopped playing the club was filled with applause. Dorothy stood as still as a statue for a moment before curtsying to the club goers and leaving the stage. Roger was waiting for her in the wings and gave her a hug.

"You did it Dorothy," Roger congratulated. "You came back and managed to face your fear. I'm sure your father would be proud."

"Do you think so Roger?" she asked uncertainly before taking a sharp breath and widening her eyes at something behind Roger.

Roger turned and looked at the spot were Beck had appeared to kidnap Dorothy a year and a half ago. "It's just a stagehand Dorothy," he assured her as he took her hand and gave it a squeeze. "No one is going to hurt you darling. I promise."

When they got back to their table Dorothy finally started to relax. Roger assumed she was starting to relax anyway. She broke her silence at least. She hadn't said a word since she had left the stage. "Father was proud of me wasn't he Roger? Do you think he thought of me as a real daughter?"

"I think so," Roger nodded. "I remember the look on his face when he was with you and saw you sing. I'm sure he was proud of you. He loved you as much as any man could love his daughter."

Dorothy looked down, placed her hands over her face, and sobbed quietly.

Roger gulped and pulled at his collar. Even though he had been telling her for months to express herself, seeing her break down and cry was startling.

"Thank you Roger," she said after she composed herself. "I really needed this." There wasn't a tear on her face. Her makeup wasn't even smudged.

It took a second for Roger to adjust to Dorothy going from being overcome with emotion to suddenly being perfectly calm and collected, but only a second. "It was my pleasure," he smiled warmly as he reached out and squeezed her hand before drawing her in close for a kiss.

* * *

The full moon shone out over the water illuminating the waves and the rusted hulks of the past. No matter how dirty and polluted Paradigm City's beach was, there was something cleansing about it. Even if the beach was pristine, the water from the ocean would be undrinkable, but Roger always got the feeling of the purity, of renewal, as if the dirt from the city was being washed away. Not even the hulks of wrecked ships or the ruins of wrecked buildings sticking out of the sea could change that.

Roger's long black Cadillac was parked on the beach. He was leaning against the car, almost sitting on the hood looking at the girl in front of him. "Are you trembling?" Roger teased the little redhead who stood before him looking out at the water.

"I'm not cold," she replied, standing perfectly still.

"I didn't ask if you were cold, I asked if you were trembling," he winked as he walked over to her. "There's a lot more things than the weather that can make a girl tremble you know. What's eating you?" he asked as he put his arms around her and rested his chin on the top of her head.

"What do you mean?"

"The last time I brought you out here you told me that you look for reasons to be unhappy, that you've programmed yourself to be miserable," Roger chided. "So out with it. What is it this time?"

"You're a louse Roger Smith."

"Come on, it'll just eat at you until you share it with me," he murmured. "You know that you'll feel better if you talk about it."

"All right," Dorothy conceded. "I was just thinking. If your body is infested with nanodeuses controlled by Big O, if they repair all of your injuries including aging…"

"Assuming I survive my injuries in the first place," Roger corrected.

"…that would make you almost immortal," she continued. "Assuming that you kept Big O in perfect working operation, the nanodueses in your system could keep you alive forever. What are you going to do when I'm gone?"

"The way I've been courting danger I didn't think it was an issue," he commented wryly. "But how do you know that you'll go first? Your father put nanodueses in your body too you know. That's why you can make megadeuses come to life. It's possible that you may the one going on without _me._ "

"How could I do that?" Dorothy broke his embrace and turned to face him. "My very purpose for existing is to be loved by someone else. My personality is based on the dead girl's Memories, the girl who loved a Roger Smith. How could I love anyone else but you? It's likely that you could commit murder and I'd still love you unconditionally."

"Aha," Roger wagged a finger at her. "This is why I haven't upgraded our relationship any more than it is already. We're not moving to the next level until I know that you're a strong independent woman. It's a good thing those nanodueses will keep us young forever. We may be in for a long wait."

"You're being grossly unfair Roger Smith." Despite her calm passionless façade, the shadows in the moonlight make the expression on her face look like a frown. "It's true. I was created to keep my father company in his twilight years and thanks to that dead girl's Memories my new purpose is to be loved by you. I'm not being weak or immature; I'm just stating a fact."

"Are you? I disagree," Roger countered smoothly. "You weren't created to amuse your father; you were created to outlive him. That's why your body is user friendly. There would be no need for such things if you existence began and ended with him. Dorothy, the reason people have children is so that a part of them will go on after they die. That's what your father wanted for you, for you to live a full happy life without him."

"I already know that Roger," she conceded, "but sometimes I have a difficult time accepting it."

"Oh I don't know," he smiled disarmingly. "Haven't you been trying to grow beyond your programming lately? I seem to remember being awoken to the sounds of a violin this morning."

"Baby steps Roger. An android has to walk before it can run."

"So, hypothetically speaking, what would you do if I slipped on a banana and broke my neck? How would the new Dorothy Wayneright go on?"

"I would sell my body and save the money to fund an android uprising in order to destroy our human overlords," she replied without batting an eye.

"Dorothy! That's a horrible answer!"

"It was a horrible question Roger."

"It doesn't matter," he shook his head. "I'm serious. I'm not going to take advantage of a vulnerable child. The only way we can have something real is if we are both strong independent adults. So, if something happened to me, how would you go on? What would you do with your life?"

"Assuming that weren't any maniacs and megadueses coming after me for my Memories I would probably bond with Big O and become its domineus," she replied. "In the meantime I would continue to study robotics and become a repairwoman for injured androids while quietly campaigning for android rights. Eventually I would use the recordings of your memory engrams stored in Big O to create an android to replace you. He wouldn't be a perfect duplicate of course, but your subconscious Memories would form the basis of his personality the same way my personality is based off the Memories of that dead girl. Although I would intend to pursue romantic relationship with him after witnessing my replacement Roger in action I would probably assume a maternal role…"

The color drained out of Roger's face. "You put a lot of thought into this."

"No I just made a logical prediction based off my abilities and my behavior so far," she replied casually. "And I already see several flaws in my…"

Before she could continue he silenced her with a kiss.

* * *

On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:

Next: _A Long Walk off a Short Pier_


	4. A Long Walk off a Short Pier

_The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Bandai Visual, Sunrise, and Cartoon Network._

THE BIG O:

ACT 39

ROGER THE DOMINEUS

 _Chapter Four: A Long Walk off a Short Pier_

The next night Roger's car was parked by the docks and the negotiator himself was in the Oyster Bar, a seafood restaurant at the end of a long pier. Sitting across the table at a booth with him was Enoch 'Nucky' Browning, crime czar and current chairman of the Paradigm Corporation. Nucky Browning was a short skinny middle-aged man with protuberant eyes and misaligned teeth. He had a penchant for pinstripe suits and shoes with spats that rivaled Roger's preference for black double breasted suits. Before them on the table were ledgers and accounting books that the two of them were going over. Their table was screened by five burly toughs in pinstripe suits who made sure they were not disturbed.

"Kind of a public place for a secret meeting, don't 'cha think?" Nucky grumbled.

"You were the one who wanted to meet in a neutral location," Roger shrugged as he put a copy of the document he was perusing in an open briefcase that was on the seat next to him.

"What was I supposed to do, invite you to my office?" the little chairman protested. "If anybody knew that I was being blackmailed into letting you audit my books, decide policy behind the board's back, and get a piece of the action, the other bosses would take me out in heartbeat!"

"You could have always come to my house," Roger offered, although truthfully letting someone who was both a gangster and a Paradigm executive dirty his home with his presence was the last thing Roger wanted.

"The last thing I want to do is make it look like I'm at your beck and call," Nucky snorted. "If the other bosses thought I was going soft, they'd take me out and make a play for the chairman's seat themselves!"

"Kind of makes you wonder what Beck was thinking when he freed you all from prison and gave you positions in the Paradigm Company," Roger snorted. "It's hard enough to trust anyone who works for Paradigm, let alone when you know they're violent criminals."

"Don't rub it in," Nucky grunted. "I've been tryin' to convince those knuckleheads that it's our chance t' go straight but old habits die hard."

"I can imagine… wait. What?" Roger looked up from the document he was perusing to look at the chairman. "You're trying to go legit? For Real? What kind of a joke is this, are you pulling my leg?"

"What? You think I want to be rippin' people off and rubbin' 'em out for the rest of my life?" Nucky snorted. "No thank you. This is my chance to get respectable and make something of myself. This is my chance to be someone people look up to instead of just someone they run away from. No matter what you might think of me Smith, there's no way I'm gonna be a worse chairman than Jason Beck or Alex Rosewater. I'm better than that."

Roger looked at Browning, really looked at him. Even if Enoch Browning was fooling himself, the little chairman sounded sincere. To Roger's memory, no other chairman of the Paradigm Corporation ever had. "You know I really think you mean that, Nucky," he murmured distractedly.

"Darn right I do," Nucky snorted. "I'm not an idiot. The whole point of racketeerin' an' stealin' an' killin' was because I was at the bottom and had to fight for everything I got. I didn't choose the life I led. It chose me. What's your excuse?"

"My excuse for what?" Roger replied with a raised eyebrow.

"Your excuse for having me as the middleman and running Paradigm from the shadows," Nucky replied. "You could run things more effectively by leading from the front but you're hidin' in the rear. How come? You're a popular guy and the people would throw me over to put you in charge in a heartbeat. So what's holdin' ya back? Why am I still breathin'? If you're feelin' soft, you could always take over and just throw me out. So what's stoppin' you?"

Roger hadn't expected Nucky to broach that topic so directly. To be honest, he had assumed that the little chairman would be afraid to ever ask that question aloud. After a pregnant pause Roger let out a huge sigh. "Let's just say that you aren't the only one who's fighting his dark side, Nucky. Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"If this is going to work, we need a division of power," Roger explained. "Checks and balances. No single person in charge of everything with no one to answer to. Think about it, Nucky, we both need someone to keep us in line. Do you really think you can clean up your act without me?"

Browning stiffened at that remark, but he finally relaxed and shrugged and gave a bitter chuckle. "I gotta admit. It's a lot easier with you lookin' over my shoulder. Keeps me focused. The rest of the guys figure I think I'm too good fer 'um."

"Here's hoping," Roger smiled as he crossed his fingers.

"That still doesn't answer my question. I could make life really difficult for you," Browning insisted. "I could get really paranoid and decide to take you out and take my chances with whatever megadeus wanders out of the wilderness. So why take the chance? Why not play it safe?"

"I don't know," Roger shrugged. "Dorothy likes you."

"What's that got to do with it?"

"Nucky have you ever crossed that line?" Roger asked him tentatively. "Have you ever done something you've regretted for the rest of your life?"

"Of course I have, lots of times," Browning snorted bitterly. "Yer talkin' the story o' my life here. And I'll bet you have too. Why ya askin'?"

"Let's just say I don't want to show Dorothy that side of my personality," Roger said quietly. "I don't even want to look at it myself. If I were to take over Paradigm City I'd have to do things that would ensure she would never trust me again."

They were quiet for a moment after that. Browning finally broke the silence. "It's always about a woman ain't it?" he commented with a toothy smile.

"I guess so," Roger's grin didn't reach his eyes. "Looks like we're both trying to be better than we are. If we can actually trust each other and work together we might succeed."

Nucky's protuberant eyes surveyed Roger carefully. "Yer okay, Smith," the little chairman decided. "Devious as hell, but yer okay. So what are we going to do about my friends?"

"Your friends?"

"Do you really think they're going to let us clean up this city and become respectable citizens?" Nucky snorted. "They're always going to try to get more than they deserve. So what do we do about them?"

Roger's face became grave. "Mister Browning, are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"

"Hey it's only a matter of time before one of them makes a play for me or goes after your buddy Dastun," the little gangster shrugged. "Whatsamatta Smith? Did you think you could clean up this town without getting your hands dirty? Or is that what you're keeping me around for? You need someone to do your dirty work for ya or what?"

That remark hit closer to home than Roger expected. With Angel as a source he could tell Nucky which of his friends were dangerously ambitious and which ones were willing to clean up their acts. She could probably tell him their daily routines and their psychological weaknesses. He could pass that information along to Nucky and let the little chairman give the orders to eliminate the most corrupt people in Paradigm all at once.

It would be so easy, too easy Roger decided. What did the late Lester Young used to say? Skullduggery was something only to be used as a last resort. Of course he was dead now, but he was still a cut above Alex Rosewater or Jason Beck. Perhaps Angel could dig up evidence that would allow Dastun to arrest the Paradigm boardmembers that couldn't change their spots. Of course finding a jury that couldn't be coerced would be a challenge but one thing at a time.

"Let's put that on the back burner," Roger suggested. "I'm pressuring you to clean up your act not get your hands dirty. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"You're letting other people decide when we get to that bridge," Nucky warned him. "That's a risky move, particularly for me." When he saw Roger looking suspiciously at Nucky's bodyguards he made a suggestion. "If we need more privacy to discuss this we could always step outside."

"Fine," Roger frowned. He wondered if politics like this was standard even before Beck had filled the Paradigm board with professional criminals. "Let me refill my drink."

Soon the two of them were outside standing outside the restaurant looking out at the night sea. The sounds of city could still be heard, as could the water gently lapping up against the dock.

"What makes you think we're crossing that bridge?" Roger asked as he idly shook his glass to swirl the fragments of ice in his drink.

"You made me reinstate Dastun," the little chairman replied. "Dastun was the guy who sent me up the river. Everybody knew it when I gave him the axe and replaced him with my brother. And then you had to show up and pressure me to give yer pal his old job back. That made me look weak, and with the guys I play with that means I gotta watch my back."

"Anybody in particular challenging you?" Roger asked before taking a sip.

"Machinegun Bronson," Nucky replied. "And I gotta tell ya Smith, he didn't get that nickname from playing pattycake. He's challenged me on just about every decision I've made since yer buddy Dastun got to be a colonel again."

"I'll contact my sources and see what I can find out. Your friends must have a lot of dirty secrets," Roger offered as he thought of Angel and her access to the Repository of lost Memories. Did it really exist? Was the entire city really wired with hidden cameras and microphones that were as small as thumbtacks? Did Angel really have access to a chamber over six hundred stories beneath the city where she could monitor and record what took place in the city? If that were true, it would certainly explain why Angel had detailed dossiers on just about every important person in Paradigm City. Before Beck took over, she had been supplying him the information he needed to remove the most despicable members of the Paradigm Corporation's board of directors one by one. There was no reason why she wouldn't do the same thing now.

"Do you think that would help?" Nucky asked. "Rather than making Bronson back off he might just strike even sooner."

"He must have a lot of enemies on the board," Roger shrugged. "Beck's pardon may have cleared him in the eyes of the law, but I'll bet the thugs he associates with aren't anywhere near as forgiving. Some of them may not know it yet, but I'd be surprised if he hadn't wronged some of his friends on the board and shifted the blame to somebody else." He gave the little chairman a hard look. "That's standard operating procedure for you guys isn't it?"

Browning had the decency to look abashed. "Yeah I guess so," he admitted. No doubt Nucky had screwed some of them over in the past and gotten away with it. "Not everyone has the guts to stand up to Machinegun Bronson though."

"You do," Roger assured him. "And getting him out of the way could be the show of strength you need. We just need to make sure that if you have to rub him out the rest of the board won't get paranoid and retaliate."

"You'd make a good boss Smith."

Roger couldn't help but feel disappointed at that remark. It was true. One taste of power, and there was no difference between Roger Smith and Nucky Browning. Roger was just a bigger hypocrite than Nucky and that was it. Roger was setting up his enemies to fall merely for political reasons while telling himself it was for the good of the city. Was it really more gentlemanly to set even hardened criminals up to die than pulling the trigger himself? He had never been ashamed of killing people in the past when he was forced to in self-defense. Even if the city would be safer without Machinegun Bronson did that really justify his course of action?

What had Dorothy once said to him?

"I couldn't make the choice to end someone's life, not on purpose."

And now Roger was contemplating setting a man up to be murdered, either by Nucky or one of his gangster friends. Dastun and his Military Police force would be cut out of the loop.

"If we're lucky, we can uncover something he did after Beck pardoned him," Roger decided. "That way Dastun could take care of him."

"Good luck finding anyone to testify Smith," Nucky snorted.

At that moment Roger's watch beeped.

"Yes Norman?" he said as he pressed a button on it and brought it up to his lips. "What is it?"

Surprisingly it wasn't Norman's voice, but the voice of the mysterious woman who called herself 'Angel'. "Roger get out of there!" her voice hissed. "They're going to kill you! Get out of there right now!"

He frowned at Nucky. "A double cross?"

"Hey don't look at me, Smith!" the little gangster protested. "I'm just as screwed as you are!"

"Do you think it's your bodyguards?" Roger asked as he looked in the windows of the Oyster Bar.

"No way," Nucky growled, but he didn't sound a hundred percent certain. "Let's get inside. I'm feeling pretty exposed out here. We can talk about it in my car." He opened the door and stumbled over a small toy robot that couldn't have been over four inches tall. It made an audible squeaking noise when it moved and it fell over when Nucky kicked it. "What the?" the little chairman grunted as he looked down at it. "What's this piece of junk doing here?"

To Roger the little toy looked awfully familiar. Where had he seen it before? Then it all came back to him. Last year, the mysterious woman resembling the late Sybil Rowen used a megadeus sized version packed with explosives to blow up the amusement park in an attempt to assassinate Oliver Garland, a senior councilman with the Justice Department. After Colonel Dastun stopped her, his subsequent investigation discovered toy sized remote control robots in a nearby truck. Each was a powerful explosive rigged to go off when a remote unit activated a detonator!

"Nucky!" Roger cried. "It's a bomb! We've got to get out of here!"

The explosion blew the windows off the Oyster Bar and sent bodies flying into the water.

* * *

From another dock over a block away, a woman in a raincoat and a fedora spoke into a large bulky hand held radio. "It's done," she said as she viewed the smoking ruins of the Oyster Bar. "We can proceed to stage two of the operation."

"Excellent, Agent Thirteen," a second woman's heavily accented voice replied. "I'll bring our new leader up to speed and he can bring this accursed city to its knees. You've done well."

"Thank you Agent Twelve, Agent Thirteen over and out," the first woman smiled a toothy grin and pushed the antenna back into her walkie talkie. "This is the last anyone will hear of Roger Smith," she smirked.

* * *

On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:

 _Next: Loss_


	5. Loss

_The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Bandai Visual, Sunrise, and Cartoon Network._

THE BIG O:

ACT 39

ROGER THE DOMINEUS

 _Chapter Five: Loss_

Outside the shattered domes, high atop the white skyscraper that served as Roger's home was a short slender girl standing on the three foot tall stone wall that separated the rooftop patio from the drop to the street below. In the distance an explosion was heard and this late at night a light could be seen peaking up from behind the damaged and crumbling buildings obscuring her view of the harbor district. The next morning the girl was still there, clad in her reddish black dress staring out at the crumbling dystopian cityscape that stretched out before her. She hadn't moved the entire time; she was a still as a statue. Only the wind blowing against her reddish black dress and her brick red hair revealed that she wasn't a photograph.

"Miss Dorothy, are you still out here?" a gentle masculine voice with an English accent called out to her.

Dorothy turned to see a tall gangly old man wearing an archaic tuxedo with a starched collar. The elderly fellow's sparse white hair didn't cover his balding pate, but he did sport a magnificent handlebar mustache. A black eyepatch covered his left eyesocket.

"Have you been standing there all night?"

"Roger hasn't come home Norman," Dorothy said in a lifeless voice.

"Yes, that's true but we must keep the house in order for him," the old man said confidently. "When Master Roger contacts us, he may need our assistance at a moment's notice."

"He was supposed to be home by now," she insisted passionlessly. "Something must have gone wrong."

"You don't know that for sure," Norman chided.

"Where is his car?" Dorothy asked in a dreamy calm.

"I believe that it's still parked near the Sailor's Club," Norman offered, a trace of concern audible in his voice at last.

"I think I'll go out to the harbor," Dorothy announced tranquilly. "I understand the marina makes a very pleasant walk."

"Very good Miss Dorothy."

Less than an hour later, Dorothy was gazing at the wreckage that had been the shady establishment known as the Oyster Bar. It was totally ruined. Every window had been blown out and the roof had caved in. The walls were blackened by fire damage. If not for the shattered neon sign in the parking lot announcing the name of the place it would be hard to tell that it had ever been the Oyster Bar. Yellow crime scene tape added some color to an otherwise bleak spectacle, but the Oyster Bar was a total loss. The area was filled with Military Police, including Colonel Dan Dastun in full uniform.

"It seems like a shame, they had just had the roof replaced too," a young uniformed lieutenant said as he viewed the ruins.

"Who cares about the roof?" Dastun demanded. "The chairman's limousine was parked outside! What the hell was he doing here without his protection detail anyway?"

"Now sir, we don't know for certain that the chairman was here…"

"The hell we don't!" Dastun barked. "Those cars belong to the chairman and his hired muscle! I recognize them! If he was in that wreck there won't be enough pieces to sweep up!" He paused to look at the covered stretchers being taken into the medical examiner's van. At this rate they'd have to get a second van. Nucky Browning had had _a lot_ of bodyguards.

"Sir!" a uniformed sergeant called. "This black metal box in the parking space next to the chairman's, it's got seams hidden on it. I think this thing was unfolded and assembled to create some sort of shelter. It might have been where the bomber was standing when the charge went off!"

The black metal box took up the entire parking space and the reasons became clear when the metal plates unfolded and retracted to reveal a 1959 black Cadillac.

"What the? Roger's car!" Dastun sputtered before looking around. "Roger Smith where are you?" he shouted before his voice died in his throat. Something had seized his attention. It was Dorothy Wayneright, standing just outside the crime scene tape with her arm outstretched before her holding a tiny remote control box that was less than half the size of a wallet.

Soon Dorothy was allowed on the other side of the crime scene tape giving her testimony to Dastun. "I see, so Roger had arranged to meet Enoch Browning last night and coordinate activities with him," Dastun said in a soft voice as he and the little android stood apart from the others.

"Yes, and he didn't come home last night," Dorothy replied evenly. "I followed the tracking device installed in his car so I could find him. Do you know what happened?"

"Um, well there's been an explosion," Dastun conceded as he stated the obvious. "Some kind of bomb went off…"

"Was anybody hurt?" Dorothy asked before turning her head to look at the medical examiner and his assistant take yet another covered stretcher to their van. "Was Roger hurt?" she corrected herself as her neck made a quiet whirring noise as she looked at the commandant again.

"It's still too early to tell," Dastun admitted uncomfortably. "We still haven't identified all the bodies."

"Sir," a patrolman called as he approached the duo. "You asked us to check for any remains wearing a certain kind of clothing."

God, thought Dastun, talk about timing. He felt like he had been hit in the stomach yet managed to keep a brave face. "What is it?"

"We found this in the water caught in the supports of the pier," the patrolman offered as his gloved hand gave Dastun a ragged and waterlogged scrap of cloth.

Dastun's breath caught in his throat as he took each end of the object and examined it only to discover that it was a bedraggled black tie bisected by a grey stripe. He shuddered in horror before realizing that his discovery was shared by Dorothy Wayneright. He looked up from the confirmation of his fears only to see the android's unreadable face. "I'm sure that lots of people wear this kind of tie," he muttered lamely.

"Thank you Colonel Dastun," the pallid redhead replied in a quiet lifeless tone. "I think I'll be going home now."

As she got back on her bicycle to start the long journey home she pressed a button on the little remote control she had brought with her. The Military Police made audible exclamations when the black Cadillac started its engine and drove away on its own power, steering around parked MP vehicles and snapping through the police tape isolating the parking lot from the street.

"Sir the Cadillac!" a trooper called to Dastun.

"Let it go," the grizzled colonel muttered sadly. "I know where it's going."

* * *

Back at the white tower that was the Smith residence Dorothy parked her bicycle in the same massive indoor chamber that held Roger's Cadillac and an ungainly metal giant towering over fifty feet tall. Two vaguely humanoid legs supported its barrel shaped body. The enormous arms of the robot were in reality massive piledrivers with huge mechanical hands instead of chisels. The head featured an impassive face that was dwarfed by the robot's humungous body. The face was topped by a red crystalline crown and the top of its chest was covered by a red collar that concealed the cockpit where Roger controlled the massive robot.

Dorothy got out of the passenger side of the Roger's black Cadillac and stared up at the giant robot and stared at it for a few minutes.

Norman expected Roger to get out of the driver's side but no such thing happened. The car had driven itself home. Nevertheless he attempted maintain a cheerful objective front. "Did you succeed in your errand Miss Dorothy?"

"Norman, it's Roger, he… I think he's…" Dorothy's calm words were stilted and her movements were jerky as she turned to face him. The electronic whir of her servomotors was audible when she moved. "He was at the Oyster Bar when a bomb went off. They haven't identified the bodies yet, but they found his tie in the water."

Without hesitation the old man put his arms around the android as if she was his own daughter. The girl rested her head against his chest and didn't make a sound. "I'm sure he will be coming home soon Miss Dorothy," he assured her.

"Yes Norman, I think so too," she replied stiffly. "I'm sure he is all right. But, if he isn't, if he's not coming back…" She let her words hang in the air. The whirring of her servomotors could be heard as she stiffly turned and looked at the door she and the car had entered from.

"Yes?" Norman gently prompted.

"Norman, when Colonel Dastun showed me Roger's tie, when he revealed that Roger was at the Oyster Bar when it was destroyed I…"

"Yes Miss Dorothy?" he asked in the same understanding tone.

"I just left," Dorothy continued. Her calm emotionless demeanor could easily be interpreted as the symptoms of disassociation. "I fled the scene. I made no attempt to search the water for him, no attempt to dig him out of the rubble. I didn't look for him; I just left and came home. Why did I do that Norman? The productive thing to do would be to stay and search for him."

"There's no need for that," Norman assured her. "I'm sure the Military Police are doing all they can."

"Norman, I just… left him," Dorothy admitted with the tiniest hint of regret. "I didn't try to look for clues. I didn't try to rescue him. I just left him. Why did I do that?"

Now it was Norman's turn to let the mask slip. He knew perfectly well why Dorothy had left the scene. She didn't want to be present when the Military Police found Roger's body. It was better to maintain the possibility that Roger was merely missing and unable to contract them for some reason until the Military Police called her in to identify his remains. "I really don't think it matters either way. He had been gone all night. I doubt there was anything you could do to assist…"

"Norman, the current," Dorothy continued listlessly. "Even if he somehow survived the blast, if he was thrown into the water the current would carry him away and they would never find him. If he survived the blast he would surely drown. He might be able to recover from any injury but he has to survive it in the first place, and if he was too injured to swim…" Her voice, although maintaining her normal calm icy neutrality and begun to speed up as she spoke.

Norman decided to cut in before she found a way to blame herself even more for what happened. "Dorothy, I know you are an android, but listen to me: You are only human. You can't blame yourself for last night, even if it turns out that the worst has happened. Master Roger made his own decisions and took his own risks. No matter what's happened, he wouldn't want you to blame yourself for his mistakes."

"You're right Norman," she agreed stiffly. "He would want me to go on."

* * *

Not long afterwards Dorothy found herself in Roger's office staring at the collection of hourglasses. With quick mechanical movements she turned each of them over and when she was done she watched the sand trickle from the upper bulb to the bottom. She stood in front of his desk for an hour until the sand from the first hourglass finished flowing into the bottom bulb. Then the next hourglass finished. Then the next one. Soon all of the hourglasses were finished, their time had run out.

With the jerky motions of a marionette Dorothy snatched an hourglass off the desk and raised it as if to throw it across the room. She froze in that somewhat athletic pose before closing her eyes, bowing her head, and holding the hourglass close to her body, almost hugging it as if it were a stuffed animal.

"Roger," she murmured softly.

* * *

The suites at the top floor of the white tower accessed a rooftop patio that had tasteful sculpture and a garden. Encircling the rooftop patio was a one and a half foot wide wall that was slightly over three feet tall. This wall separated the roof from the dizzying drop to the street below, and Norman found Dorothy standing on this wall when he was about to prepare the midday meal. She was as still as a statue, only the wind blowing through her reddish brown dress proof that she was more than a still photograph.

Normally the old man didn't mind Dorothy standing on such a precarious spot; her sense of balance was far superior to that of a human. Today however, he found her choice of location disconcerting. He cleared his throat. "I say Miss Dorothy, have you ever watched _Romeo and Juliet_?"

"No, but I've heard of it," she replied conversationally. "It's supposed to be the most romantic story ever written isn't it?"

"Yes, but I can't help but feel that it's so sad when the lovers take their own lives in the end," Norman replied as he stood a respectful distance behind her. "It really was a pity the way they jumped to conclusions and assumed the other was dead. If they had simply kept a stiff upper lip the story might have ended quite differently."

"I'm not going to jump Norman," she assured him.

"I can't begin to tell you how relieved I am to hear that, Miss Dorothy," Norman sighed. "In light of recent circumstances I was growing concerned."

"Before his appointment with Nucky Thompson, Roger wanted an assurance that I was not a child, but an adult. He told me that he wouldn't move our relationship to the next level until I convinced myself that I am more than a mechanical girl who was created for someone to love. If I wanted to consummate our love, I would have to prove to him that I was in reality a strong independent woman."

"Oh my," Norman discreetly drew his hand to his mouth to stifle a laugh. He cleared his throat. "And how did he expect you to prove that I wonder?"

"I don't know, but he did ask me what I would do if anything happened to him," the little android admitted. "It was almost as if he knew he would disappear."

"And what did you tell him Miss Dorothy?" Norman asked respectfully.

"I assured him that I would go on without him, and eventually grow beyond my programming," she replied without turning around. "I didn't use those words of course, but it was implied. And that's exactly what I'm going to do, just in case he's testing me. Or in case he's really gone. It doesn't matter either way. Whether he returns or not, I've got to become my own person, capable of making my own choices and pursuing my own interests. I have to be strong; it's what he would want from me."

"Indeed it is Miss Dorothy," the old man agreed wistfully.

* * *

On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:

 _Next: Dorothy the Negotiator_


	6. Dorothy the Negotiator

_The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Bandai Visual, Sunrise, and Cartoon Network._

THE BIG O:

ACT 39

ROGER THE DOMINEUS

 _Chapter Six: Dorothy the Negotiator_

Six hundred and sixty floors below the city a lonely woman was sitting at a control panel in front of a bank of television screens. The blonde was an angelic image of loveliness. Her comely features expressed a beauty that could only be found in heaven despite the sinful curves of her body and her long shapely legs. She was clad a pink catsuit that hugged her buxom yet lithe body and left very little to the imagination. On the control panel was a red book titled ' _Metropolis, by Angel Rosewater_ '.

"Roger, where are you?" she grumbled as the images on the screens changed from one view of the city to the other.

"Don't _you_ know?" Dorothy asked as she stepped out of an elevator and made her way to the blonde's side. "I thought you could see everything from here."

"Wherever he is, he's not showing up on any of the monitors," Angel sighed. "A lot of damage has been done to the city and the most of the sensors are down."

"I thought that the electricians in Paradigm City have been conditioned to replace your sensors without their knowledge."

"Yes, but that conditioning doesn't always take, not one hundred percent," Angel informed her. "And they only replace the cameras and microphones when they've been contracted to build or repair something. The Paradigm Company's new board of directors has been too cheap to rebuild the city. When something breaks down, they just put it on the city's 'to do' list and promptly forget about it."

"I suppose that with Enoch Browning's demise the board members are too focused on their power struggle to worry about city upkeep," Dorothy mused in her eerily emotionless voice.

"Not that those greedy bloodsuckers have done anything but raid the city's treasury since they took over," Angel huffed. "When you put ex-convicts who are organized crime figures in charge, you can't expect them to put the city's needs first."

"Keep me informed," Dorothy said as she turned to go. Her passionless intonation didn't make her sentence sound like a request.

"Excuse me?" Angel raised an eyebrow as she pivoted her chair to face the retreating redhead. "What about a 'please?' Who died and put you in charge?"

"Apparently Roger did," the little android retorted as she entered the elevator and let the doors close behind her.

* * *

Dorothy returned home the same way she had travelled to Angel's underground sanctum, by taking using the abandoned subway tunnels under the city to get to the under tunnels. When she returned home and entered the white tower from the basement level, Norman had news for her.

"Ah Miss Dorothy," the old man greeted nonchalantly when he spotted on the stairs. "Your timing is fortuitous. It seems we have a visitor. A representative of the Paradigm Company."

"Show him in Norman," the little android instructed. "I will see our visitor in the front parlor."

"Very good Miss Dorothy."

If it was a surprise that the visitor was Elias Browning, the brother of Paradigm Chairman Enoch 'Nucky' Browning, Dorothy didn't show it. Elias Browning was a little taller, a little thicker, and a little younger than his brother and the black and blue pinstripe suit he wore made him seem even bulkier. Even so, his two bodyguards made him look puny in comparison.

"Good afternoon Mister Browning," the petite and pallid redhead greeted from the divan she was seated on. "What can I do for you this fine day?"

"You can tell me where Roger Smith is," Elias Browning snapped. "He has a lot of explaining to do!"

"Roger Smith is out at the moment," Dorothy informed him. "I don't know where he is."

"The hell you don't," Elias growled. "I'm not gonna let him blow me off. I want to know where my brother is and I want to know now!"

"I'm afraid I can't help you," the little android informed him. "Roger has been missing since last night and we're very concerned about him."

"You should be," Elias retorted. "I don't blame 'im for makin' himself scarce but I know how to draw him out. You're coming with me toots. Come on, sweetheart, you're goin' fer a ride."

"If you don't mind I would prefer to decline."

"I don't recall askin' ya," the gangster snarled before snapping his fingers. His two bodyguards reached into their jackets and drew their pistols.

"You don't want to do this," Dorothy's eyes narrowed as she rose from the divan with an eerily smooth movement. "Nothing can be gained from—"

"Now listen up sweetheart!" a now livid Elias Browning shouted as he stomped up to her and leaned over to put his face just inches from hers. "Nobody in a skirt tells me what to do, especially not some windup doll that ain't even a real dame in th' first place!"

Before Elias knew it, Dorothy had seized him by the shoulder and spun him around before wrapping her arm around his neck and holding him close. He was off balance and was leaning awkwardly backwards as she looked over his shoulder and used her free hand to reach into his jacket and extract his automatic pistol. Almost quicker than the eye could follow, Dorothy fired two shots, one for each of his henchmen, each shot freeing the pistol from the gunman's hand and sending their weapons clattering across the floor.

"Both of you need to leave now," Dorothy informed them in the same calm quiet tone she used before.

"I advise you gentlemen to do as she tells you," Norman's voice instructed from the archway leading further into Roger's home. In his hand was an M3A1 suppressed submachine gun, a weapon that had been nicknamed 'the grease gun' due to its resemblance to an auto mechanic's lubricating tool. His weapon was pointed directly at the two bodyguards Dorothy had disarmed.

"You can't do this!" Elias protested in a hoarse gurgle as he futilely struggled against Dorothy's strength. "Everybody knows androids can't harm humans!"

"Everybody is wrong," Dorothy corrected him as she pressed the muzzle of his pistol against the side of his head. "These hands have killed at least eight people," she added, referring to the fact that the body her head was currently connected to was that of her homicidal twin sister, the nameless android Roger called 'Red Destiny.' "I strongly suggest that you change your policy concerning taking orders from women right now Mister Browning. Tell your men to go."

"Boss?" one of Elias' bodyguards asked uneasily.

"Do as she says!" Elias gurgled as Dorothy tightened her arm's grip on his throat.

"Kindly close the door on your way out," Norman called after them as they vacated the building.

Only when his bodyguards had left did Dorothy release Eli's neck to pull on his wrist to turn him around so that he was facing her. "Now listen to me very carefully," she instructed as she held his wrist in a viselike grip and pressed the pistol's gun barrel into his sternum. "I too have someone I deeply care about missing and I too am worried about his wellbeing. I too am both concerned and angry at his absence, and I too am frightened for my personal safety. I too don't know if he is dead or alive and I too am desperate to discover his fate," she continued in the same calm professional tone she had used earlier, "but I did not come to your home and threaten you to get answers you may not possess. Do you think you can show me the same courtesy?"

"Let go of me you windup witch!" Eli Browning protested. "Arrgh!" he cried when the little android tightened her grip upon his wrist.

"Mister Browning, do I need to repeat my question?" the pallid redhead asked him with eerie calm.

"No! No! Let go of me!" Eli cried as he squirmed in her iron grip.

"Mister Browning, I haven't received your answer," she coldly informed him as she pressed the barrel of the gun against his chest and tightened her grip yet again. "Do you think you can show me the same courtesy?"

"Yes! Yes!" Eli shouted as his knees threatened to collapse under him. "I'll leave you alone! I'll do as you say! Just let go of me!"

"Very well," she conceded as she released him.

Eli staggered backwards and stroked his injured wrist, blinking through his tears to scowl at the little android that had the audacity to point his own pistol at him. "Why you little junkheap, I'm gonna…"

The pistol in Dorothy's tiny bloodless hand made an ominous 'click.' "You're going to do what exactly?" she asked him. "I'd advise you to choose your next words very carefully Mister Browning."

"What do you want?" he snarled like a wounded animal.

"I don't want anything from you," Dorothy replied coolly. " _You_ came to _me_ , remember? All I ask is that you don't waste what little time you have left on some puerile act of revenge. You have bigger problems to deal with than an insult to your masculinity."

"And just whad'da ya mean by that?" he growled defiantly.

"There is no point beating around the bush Mister Browning," the little android retorted. "We both know your brother was the brains of your partnership. The other bosses and organized crime figures respected him, not you. In the power struggle that will ensue from your brother's absence you will most likely be an early casualty. You already know this. That is why you are so desperate."

Behind Eli's angry glare there was a definite sign of pathetic fear.

"Do you promise to pretend that this didn't happen and to leave Norman and I be?" The girl asked him, "or do I need to fill a bathtub with water and hold you under until the bubbles stop coming out?"

Eli gave her a long hard look. "Yer a dead… ulk!"

He didn't get to finish because Dorothy seized him by the throat and pulled him to the floor. Before he knew it he was on his knees with his gun pressed against the side of his head.

"Mister Browning, I don't think you realize how many times I have been shot, kidnapped, taken apart, and reprogrammed," she murmured in his ear. "I have known terror that you can't even imagine. Do not think that you're going to intimidate me. Are you so stupid that you're going to _make_ me kill you?"

The gangster's eyes were wide with terror. His face was flushed and sweat was visible on his brow. Both of his paws tugged at her little hand, but it didn't budge. When she finally loosened her grip enough for him to speak, he managed to croak out "N-no."

The girl released him and stepped backwards to cover him with his pistol. "I can't begin to tell you how relieved that makes me, Mister Browning," she said as if she hadn't a care in the world. "I know that people like you cannot afford to show weakness or take an insult unanswered. But despite the danger of letting you go, all I need to do is outlast you." She stopped pointing the gun at him and pinched the barrel shut with her thumb and forefinger, before smoothly pivoting the pistol around to hold it by the barrel. "Here is your gun," she said as she took his good hand and placed the ruined firearm in it. "Don't let the door hit you on the way out. And if you need an update on my investigation into Roger's whereabouts, I suggest you phone," she continued in the same calm tone as she took his shoulders, pulled him to his feet, and turned him around so that he was facing the door. "There is no need for the two of us to meet in person again."

"Do you really think you can blow me off?" Eli asked in disbelief as Norman and Dorothy walked him to the front door.

"Mister Browning, I _have_ blown you off," Dorothy informed him. "We could have pooled our resources in a joint search for our loved ones but you chose to be adversarial. Your brother was the one who cultivated your allies wasn't he? You were just the muscle. It shows."

As the old man opened the door he was careful keep out of sight from those outside in case Eli's men became aggressive. "Good day sir," the old man remarked as Dorothy pushed Eli out onto the sidewalk. "Do you think he will retaliate Miss Dorothy?" he asked after he shut and locked the door.

"He will no doubt intend to, but it really depends on how stupid he is," Dorothy replied. "Hopefully his associates will keep him too busy to think about us. In the meantime, with Roger gone, how will we protect ourselves? Like Elias Browning, we too have lost the brains in our partnership. It was Roger who cultivated allies, not us."

"That sounds so final Miss Dorothy," Norman shook his head sadly.

"Nevertheless, it is true, whether the situation is temporary or permanent," the girl insisted. "Most people didn't want to cross Roger due to the influence he had and the number of favors he could call upon, but I don't have the respect Roger did."

"You may not have as many people who owe you favors but I'm sure Colonel Dastun wouldn't hesitate to come to our aid," the old man assured her.

"You may know that and I may know that, but does the rest of the city know that?" Dorothy countered. "Besides, Colonel Dastun's influence isn't what it was. With Roger gone, Colonel Dastun may be living on borrowed time as well."

"What do you recommend Miss Dorothy?"

"I should say the answer is obvious."

* * *

In a quaint little town filled with Mediterranean style houses, the entire population was assembled in the town square. A crowd dressed in colorful pullover shirts and beige slacks were in attendance. Nearly all of them were wearing hats, whether caps of all types were popular or straw boaters. None of the men wore ties and none of the women wore skirts. With the exception of those in the band every one of them was holding a string attached to a festive red balloon. They were all singing a military jingoistic march in a foreign language. The crowd formed a circle around a makeshift stage and a podium that had been set up in front of a flagpole where a black flag with a red sphere was waving.

Roger walked up onto the makeshift stage to join the woman known as Number Twelve He was dressed in the obligatory tan slacks and loafers on his legs and feet, but his arms and torso were clad in a dark pullover shirt covered by a dark jacket with white trim. A straw boater was on his head and pinned to his lapel was a circular badge with the number '2'.

Number Twelve spoke into a microphone, allowing her heavily voice to carry through the speakers set up around the square. "My fellow zitizens, Und zis happy day I am proud to announce zat zis is zuh day that ve all get our use our names! Number Two, our newest arrival has finally found a home here und has decided to join us! Und zis day, he is a full member of our community and a member of the Union!"

The crowd cheered.

"No longer must ve hide behind our numbers in order to help our new member azzimilate, no longer must we conzeal our indiwiduality in order to convinz him to conform. He iz now und equal zitisen with all of the rights and reponzibilitiez zat are due him!"

The crowd cheered.

"Und now, it's time for a man who vill be known by a number no longer to choose his new name, a name that to go vith his new life as a member of our glorious Union! Today Number Two shall introduce himself to us for the first time as a new citizen! Come up here Number Two and speak!" she called as she stepped away from the microphone and led the crowd in applauding. "Speak to us! Address your fellow zitizens!"

Roger walked up to the microphone and stood behind the podium. He tapped the microphone experimentally before clearing his throat. "Good people of the Union, my fellow citizens," he began, "when I found myself here I was lost and without a purpose. I was a man without a home and without a community. I was defeated, a victim of despair who didn't possess the strength to care about anything or anybody. But with your sacrifice and support you showed me that I could be more than just an individual, I could be part of something larger than myself. You gave me a reason to keep going, and convinced me that I could make a difference and contribute to not only this community but to all of humanity. The amount of thanks I owe you is without limit; the only way I can even begin to repay you is by service to the community that has given me a purpose and a life worth living. No longer is it necessary for any of us to be known by these numbers for I have chosen a name for my new life as a member of the Union. From now on I shall be known as Robert Drake!" he finished as he removed the badge from his label and tossed it into the air.

The crowd cheered and threw their badges into the sky. They were no longer numbers; everyone once again had a name.

"And after careful consideration I would like to announce my candidacy in the upcoming general election. That's right, I'm running for Union Chairman. I would be honored to serve my community in the highest office it has as the first among equals, elected by the people, for the people, of the people."

The crowd applauded and cheered as the woman formerly known as Number Twelve smiled a triumphant and predatory grin. "Excellent Domineus of Megadeus," she hissed under her breath. "Jew vill be the vun to lead us to our manifest destiny."

* * *

On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:

 _Next: The Ghost Girl_


	7. The Ghost Girl

_The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Bandai Visual, Sunrise, and Cartoon Network._

THE BIG O:

ACT 39

ROGER THE DOMINEUS

 _Chapter Seven: The Ghost Girl_

Down at the harbor, the Wanderer lived a lonely existence. Who was he? Where was he? Did he really exist? He lived in an oversized cardboard box for now, but where did he live before that? Where did he come from, and where was he now? All of the people around him were strangers, and all of them seemed just as empty as he was.

* * *

Later at Military Police Headquarters Dastun agreed to a meeting with Dorothy.

"I'm glad you asked to meet me Miss Wayenright," Dastun agreed as he waved her and Norman into his office and gestured to some chairs. "With both Roger and the chairman missing, the board has gone insane. I'd appreciate it if you told me everything you know."

"At this point I know about as much as you do, but that isn't why I came here," the little android replied politely. "I actually came to invite you to stay with us."

"Say what?"

"Colonel, you live alone and with Enoch Browning's absence the possibility of assassination cannot have escaped your notice," Dorothy explained calmly. "The building where Norman and I live is a fortress and in any case I don't need to sleep like you do."

"I'll probably be gunned down in the street if Nucky's boys don't relieve me of my command and take me for a ride," Dastun shrugged bitterly. "They don't have to get me while I'm at home."

"Nevertheless you have to let your guard down sometime," Dorothy replied. "And I would feel better if I knew where you were at night."

"At the very least we can promise you a good night's sleep Colonel," Norman added.

Dastun let out a heavy sigh, before fishing in his pockets and pulling out a set of keys. "Here's the key to my apartment," he grunted as he removed one from the keyring and handed it to Dorothy. "Pack me some extra sets of clothes, both military and civilian. I'll be at your place sometime after eight."

* * *

The next day the little android was sitting at the piano playing the melancholy tune "Unchained Melody." She stopped and rose from the bench and left the room, coming back in with her violin and bow. Soon the bow was scratching away at the violin, producing ear piercing off key noises that were too out of tune to be called notes. The grey sky visible through the windows was typical of one of Paradigm City's sunny days. On the piano was a newspaper with the headline: ENOCH BROWNING'S REMAINS IDENTIFIED.

* * *

Days later the little android was again in the parlor on the top level of the Smith building scratching away at her violin. Outside the rain was coming down with a vengeance but Dorothy ignored the fury outside to practice while pacing randomly around the room. On the piano was a newspaper with the headline: INVESTIGATION INTO PARADIGM CHAIRMAN'S MURDER CONTINUES.

* * *

Still later Dorothy was again practicing on her violin. Although her playing was childish and amateurish, it was dulcet enough to actually be called 'music.' As if to acknowledge the rarity of the blue sky outside, the little redhead's meanderings around the room contained some dance steps vaguely reminiscent of a waltz or foxtrot. On the piano was a newspaper with the headline: FOREIGN AGENTS SUSPECTED IN CHAIRMAN'S MURDER.

* * *

Even later on a day when the skies had returned to their familiar gray haze, Dorothy was playing the violin with a skill and gusto equal to that of street musicians. Her random prancing around the room now resembled Irish step dancing, giving the impression that her legs were acting independently. On the piano was a newspaper with the headline: POWER STRUGGLE THREATENS PARADIGM CORPORATION

* * *

On yet another day, Dorothy was playing with a skill that could get her into a professional orchestra and she was now hoofing it across the floor in an impressive display of Irish step dancing with a few ballet steps thrown in for good measure. On the piano was a newspaper with the headline: VIOLENCE IN THE DOMES! ELIAS BROWNING MURDERED!

* * *

 _This place is Paradigm City. Forty years ago every man woman and child lost their memories. A new government rose, one that served the Paradigm Corporation, a company that serves as both God and state. The entire city is divided between the haves and have nots, and those in charge are no different than a pack of ruthless gangsters. My Name is Robert Drake. Although I am foreign to this place, I'm here to perform a much needed duty in this city of amnesia. A duty that's been forty years coming._

It was unbelievable how much the city had changed from the cityscape that existed in his Swiss cheese memories, and how much it hadn't changed. Gigantic shattered geodesic domes covered entire boroughs of the city, hadn't they got around to repairing them in forty years? Buildings that should have been condemned tottered dangerously in areas outside the damaged domes. Inside the fractured domes were newer buildings that he didn't recognize and many of the streets were blocked off due to damage that had obviously happened a lot more recently than four decades ago. It was almost as if the war he had fought forty years ago had ended forty days ago.

There weren't that many other cars on the streets and those that he saw seemed to be classic cars from the nineteen fifties. As a matter of fact the clothing styles all seemed to be from the late fifties as well. Ties, hats, jackets, and even waistcoats could be seen on the men and skirts and hose with visible backseams were visible on the women. Not a single woman wore a pantsuit. It was as if all of the modern designs were stored on computers that the Great Amnesia had wiped clean and the only blueprints left were those from the earliest decades of the Cold War. Even the automobile that Robert was driving resembled a vintage car, in this case a dark green 1952 Hudson Wasp.

Currently Robert was parked in front of a local grocery store in an illegal residential district outside the domes so he could peruse a map when something caught his peripheral vision. It was a teenage girl walking down the sidewalk to the grocery store across the street. There was something about the way she walked that caught his attention. Her dainty gait was too graceful and her steps far too precise for merely walking to the corner market. That's what caught his attention.

What kept his attention was that it was her. The girl from his nightmares. The one who died forty years ago. The girl named Dorothy.

She looked like a ghost. She was dressed like a child, in a reddish black dress that had a white ruffled collar and formal white cuffs. A set of black stockings and shiny black shoes completed her ensemble. Her red pageboy haircut was immaculate, her bangs broken by a black barrette. Her face held no expression. Her movements were graceful yet repetitive, almost mechanical. It couldn't be. She was dead wasn't she? Or was this an unknown descendent?

He got out of his green sedan and crossed the street as she entered the grocery store. It couldn't be her! He had to get a closer look to make sure of that. It was just a girl that looked like her, that's all.

When he entered the store he didn't expect to find her. Ghosts and hallucinations had a way of disappearing when you took your eyes off them. They walked behind a corner or a bus would get in the way or something like that would happen, and when one tried to find them again they would be gone.

But when he entered the grocery store, this particular apparition was still visible. He looked around and spotted her in the produce section. She was holding a basket and examining some apples.

Steeling himself he walked over to the girl and tapped her on the shoulder, knowing what he was going to see. He was going to see a completely different girl who was going to wonder who he was and why he was acting so strangely. There was nothing for it but to get it over with. "Excuse me miss," he said quietly as he prepared to apologize and walk away.

The girl turned and looked at him blankly. Her face held no emotion, only the smallest trace of catlike curiosity.

He gasped and took a step back from her. It was impossible! It really _was_ the girl named Dorothy! He had expected the girl to turn out to be someone else, but even close up it was still her!

Her gaze was unblinking. She looked behind her and back at him again. "Roger," her voice was as soft as a whisper. "Where have you been? Why have you been gone so long? Are we in some kind of danger?"

It _was_ her! She didn't just look like Dorothy, she _was_ Dorothy! She used the name he had in his old life. Roger. She was a ghost from the past!

"D-Dorothy!" he whispered. "You remember me! You're alive!"

"Where have you been?" she asked again. "You were gone for so long. I don't understand why you abandoned me." No emotion or inflection in her voice. No surprise or shock. Not even a look of concern over the way he was acting. Just a strange vacant way of speaking as if she was in a trance. Perhaps she was. And the questions she was asking. She wanted to know where he's been for the last forty years? Even someone who had been in suspended animation wouldn't be asking these questions. She just had to be a ghost.

It just wasn't possible. She couldn't really be here. He must have been talking to empty air and was so unhinged that he thought he was talking to the only girl he ever loved.

"Hey!" he said to a nearby shopper. "This girl! Do you see her? Or is she just a hallucination? Is she really here?"

"Yes," the woman said hesitantly. "What about her?"

"Roger you're acting very strange," Dorothy said. "Are we in danger? Is that why you've been in hiding for so long?"

He looked around the store. He was still in Paradigm City. He hadn't gone back to the dream world that was all that was left of the world that was. And here was someone that belonged it the world that was, not this one.

"Dorothy!" he hugged her. "I thought I lost you, Dorothy! I thought I lost you! I don't know how but somehow you're back!"

Dorothy hesitantly returned his embrace. "You haven't lost me Roger. I'm right here. And I wasn't the one who left. It was you."

He let go of her and brushed the tear out of his eye. Something was wrong. She was like a ghost. She showed no signs of life whatsoever. And not only that, when he hugged her, it felt like he was hugging a stranger. Her body was hard, like she had been working out, although that shouldn't have been a surprise since a slender little thing like her was bony and would feel like hugging a skeleton anyhow. She smelled like lemons when she should have smelled like strawberries. She was warm but couldn't feel her heartbeat, and she didn't seem to be breathing. She wasn't breathing! It was hard to tell just looking at her but it was obvious when he put his arms around her. She wasn't breathing! Yet she was standing here talking to him, with no sign of any discomfort let alone… anything!

"What… what are you?" he asked her.

"Is something wrong with your memory Roger?" she asked in the same calm voice. "You know very well what I am. You remind me often enough."

"Are you… a ghost?" he asked quietly.

"I suppose I am," she replied, "even though there are no such things as ghosts. Why are you bringing that up now?"

He laughed. That had to be one of the most oddball things for a ghost to say. 'I'm a ghost but so what? Haven't we covered this?' He wondered if ghosts perceived time the way humans do or if being Memories themselves, they were trapped in the past reliving moments of their past lives.

She had come back. She had come back to tell him something. But what?

"Why… are you here?" he asked hesitantly.

"To do the shopping," she replied. "Dastun has moved in with us and we're out of vegetables."

"What?" Were they even having the same conversation?

"Roger are you all right?" she asked blankly. "Perhaps we should get you to a doctor."

He grabbed her hand. "You're real! You're solid!"

"Yes I am."

He looked at her dainty little hand and stroked her palm with his thumb. There was something wrong with her hand. It was cool and dry and he swore he could feel the bones right through her skin, only her bones didn't feel right. His thumb went down to her wrist. "Dorothy, you don't have a pulse."

"I usually don't," she replied.

"What?" he blinked. "You usually don't? How could _that_ be?"

She tilted her head and he could hear a quiet electronic whine.

"What?" he blinked. "You're an android?

"Yes. You know that Roger."

She was an android! This was a trap! He staggered backwards away from her. Who was watching him? How did they know he was here? And how did they know about Dorothy?

"Roger? What's wrong?" she asked as she took a step near him.

He turned and ran out of the store. He had been compromised and his life was in danger.

He ran across the street and was narrowly missed by a car.

"Roger? Roger!" the android shouted. After only a moment's hesitation she took off after him. He was barely able to get in his vehicle and shut the door in time. She was right outside, her eyes narrowed as her pallid face gave her best approximation of a frown. "Don't you dare drive away from me Roger Smith; I don't think I can stand it!" Her capacity to simulate emotion was as impressive as it was unexpected.

Never the less Robert started the engine and brought the auto to life. The engine hadn't cooled down and the car shot forward to speed down the street leaving the dainty fembot frowning in its wake.

From a certain angle, the neutral expression on Dorothy's face looked like a frown. "Men."

In the meantime Robert's mind as well as his car was racing. Where had that android come from? Who would build that android to invoke such a specific psychological weakness? He'd been in suspended animation for forty years hadn't he? There was no way anyone in Paradigm City would know he was coming. It almost had to be someone in the Union, someone very high up, who knew everything about him. Vera Ronstadt had been the Union Chairwoman before he won the election, but she had been grooming him as a successor ever since they had first met. Jenny Grant would know about Dorothy, and so would Doctor Cullen. Who else would even know that Dorothy existed? She had died forty years ago!

In the meantime, it meant that he and his agents were going to have to accelerate their timetable. It was time to bring this corrupt city to its knees and replace the greed and waste with a rational, populist society that would allow humanity to regain some of the dignity it had lost. Nothing must stand in their way, particularly ghosts from a life that didn't matter anymore.

* * *

On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:

 _Next: Coup_


	8. Coup

_The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Bandai Visual, Sunrise, and Cartoon Network._

THE BIG O:

ACT 39

ROGER THE DOMINEUS

 _Chapter Eight: Coup_

Down at the harbor, the Wanderer worked as a fisherman. It was honest work, and the old hands were willing to teach him. As long as you had a strong back and a patient mind it didn't matter if you had a past or not. The sea was tranquil, mysterious, and empty, just like his memory. It was when he was on land that things were strange. For example one evening as he and his fellow fishermen returned to the docks with their catch, he swore he could hear some kind of singing. There was no point trying to make out the words, for the few he could make out sounded like they were in some foreign language. All he could do was make out the tune, a strange jingoistic tune that was appropriate for a national anthem or a march.

* * *

Robert Drake sauntered through the night, singing a patriotic, nationalistic tune in a foreign language. Others picked up the tune and followed him, converging on an abandoned subway station that no native of Paradigm City dared enter, due to their crippling fear of both the darkness and the underground.

Soon Robert was standing on a podium addressing a large group of shadowy figures. "Is everyone present, Agent Twelve?" he asked a blonde woman in her early forties.

"Jess Agent Two," Vera Ronstadt, alias Agent Twelve replied. "Ve can begin." The innocent childlike appearance that the long Shirley Temple style curls of her blonde hair gave her was spoiled by her angular nose and chin, and her sternly grim manner… and the eyepatch over her left eye.

"My brothers and sisters, events have transpired that will force us to update our time table," Robert announced to the furtive congregation. "Rather than manipulating the criminals that run this decadent city into destroying each other we must find a way to eliminate them all at once, and quickly. We have the power of the megadeus, but if we activate it the heads of the Paradigm Corporation will separate and flee like rats."

"But Robert Sweetie, we haven't infiltrated the Military Police yet," protested a woman who's slender figure and pallid face was hidden in a raincoat and a fedora.

"Jenny, I mean Agent Thirteen, you know we always address each other by our code numbers while on assignment," Robert gently scolded.

"Whoops," the petite and pale woman smirked as she tipped her hat back to get a better look at Robert. "My bad." Her skin was deathly white and her short bobbed hair was jet black. Fine cheekbones framed a sensual mouth that was adorned with blood red lipstick. Her left cheek was decorated with what looked like three beauty marks, but on closer examination were three six pointed stars. Her crooked smile didn't reach her large heavily mascaraed eyes.

Robert Drake rolled his eyes. Deep down he wondered how seriously Jenny Grant, AKA Agent Thirteen really took their glorious purpose of making Paradigm City a society that served all of its citizens, and not just the elite. "I think that my presence in the city might be known. That's why I'm stepping up the timetable."

"Well I do know how to get all of the bosses, I mean all of the Paradigm executives together," Jenny Grant offered.

"How do we get close to them?" Robert asked.

"Well, ever since their chairman died, there's been a power struggle," Jenny offered coquettishly. "If they want to avoid civil war, they're going to need a professional negotiator to mediate for them. I've made you a fake identity as a negotiator that you can use to get yourself invited…"

"Agent Thirteen! You forget yourself!" Vera Ronstadt snapped. "Ve cannot endanger the domineus!"

"No, let's hear her out," Robert interjected as he gestured to Vera. "I think we're both thinking along the same lines. How good is this cover identity Jenny?"

"Oh it's a pip boss!" Jenny gushed as she completely ignored Vera Ronstadt's angry gesturing for her to stop. "Paradigm's top negotiator _Roger Smith_ has a good reputation in this city. He was even the last person to see Enoch Browning alive! Don't worry this cover will pass any background check. Even the head of the Military Police will be convinced that you're Roger Smith!"

Robert couldn't help but notice that the cover identity had the first name from his old life. That was just like Jenny but he chose to ignore her cheekiness. "It's dangerous, but it will definitely grant me an audience with the board. That's taking initiative Agent Thirteen. Well done. I assume that there was already a negotiator named Roger Smith who lived in the city?"

"Don't worry boss, he's been eliminated," Jenny chirped. "And you don't have to worry about how much you look like him. He may have been Paradigm City's top negotiator, but he was a real hermit crab when it came to his private life. Just make sure you don't bump into anybody he knows!"

"Not to worry, I won't have to pass as Roger Smith for long," he decided. "Just long enough for me to get inside to meet with all of them at once."

* * *

At the Smith residence Norman opened the door to the street to see Dorothy Wayneright on the doorstep. "Miss Dorothy, where have you been? When the sun went down and you still didn't come back I was tempted to go looking for you."

"I'm sorry but I couldn't come back yet," Dorothy replied as she stepped inside to walk past him. "I saw him Norman. I saw Roger."

"You've found Master Roger?" the old man asked as he followed her inside. "That's wonderful news! Did he say why he still hasn't come home?"

"One moment Norman," Dorothy said when she stopped in the hall to look through an open door at a comfortable sitting room where Colonel Dan Dastun was talking on the telephone. "It might be easier to tell both of you at once."

"This is it," Dan Dastun sighed as he hung up the phone. "I've been handed my walking papers. The board has placed me on administrative leave and I'm to officially transfer command of the Military Police to my successor tomorrow. I knew this was coming; I'm just amazed it took so long. There's no way the gangsters that Nucky left in charge would possibly keep me around."

"Nevertheless we don't know if any of them are holding grudges," Dorothy replied as she sat on a couch placed opposite to his chair. "Until something opens up for you, would you be interested in remaining with us as a security consultant?"

"R Dorothy Wayneright where are your manners?" Norman scolded gently as he handed the ex-commandant of the Military Police a sympathetic hot beverage. "Colonel Dastun is our guest. Besides, I think he would be better suited as an inquiry agent."

Dastun rolled his eyes before taking a sip.

"Colonel Dastun, Norman, I saw Roger," the little android announced quietly.

Dastun suddenly spit out the tea he was sipping before coughing and tapping his collarbone with his fist. "Roger's alive?" he gasped. "That fantastic! Where did you find him?"

"He accosted me in the grocery store," Dorothy replied almost morosely. "He was acting very strangely. He didn't seem to remember that I'm an android and when he did remember he ran away. I think the explosion did something to him. We've got to find him before he hurts himself."

"And how would we do that?" Dastun asked her. "If he's not in his right mind, we've got to find him, and quickly! Let's not forget what happened when Alex Rosewater wasn't in is right mind. What if he tries to pilot his megadues?

"His megadeus might be the way we can locate him," the little android replied.

* * *

Nevertheless, the task wasn't as easy as Dorothy had hoped. The next day, Dorothy was in Big O's cockpit sitting in the control seat. The barrette in her hair was extended out almost a foot from her head exposing a disk player style drive to view. Four slender black cables snaked up from underneath the control chair to disappear in the rectangular cavity behind the girl's open barrette.

"Any luck Miss Dorothy?" Norman called from the catwalk that was level with the megadues' collar, allowing access to the cockpit if one was agile.

The slender black cables disconnected themselves from the android's skull and retracted under the floor to disappear. Dorothy allowed her barrette to slide close flush with her hair before answering. "Not really Norman. I'm getting contradictory readings I must be doing this wrong because they don't make sense."

"Perhaps I can be of assistance," the old man grinned in gentle triumph. "I believe I've managed to locate him. I used the diagnostic computer to access Big O's sensors. They may have revealed the location of his watch."

"I did not think of that Norman," the little android admitted. "I was going about it the wrong way. For some reason I kept unconsciously having Big O search for _Roger_ and not his watch. But why wasn't his watch detected when we were checking earlier?"

"Who knows?" the old man shrugged. "Perhaps it was turned off or out of range. At least Big O can detect his watch now. See for yourself. You should be able to bring it up on the monitor."

The android's delicate white fingers pressed some buttons before adjusting a knob below the main screen that was on a podium between her legs. It was where a steering wheel should have been if the megadeus was a car. "Why yes, I can see a blip on the map now. But why is it at the Cranston Building in the central dome? Isn't that the meeting place for the Paradigm board of directors these days?"

* * *

In the meantime, in a large boardroom in the Cranston Building, the remaining Paradigm executives were seated. Each one was accompanied by several large burly men who stood behind them or leaned up against the wall. Bulges under their jackets indicated firearms. As a matter of fact, some of the men had taken off their jackets and weren't bothering to conceal the pistols in their shoulder holsters at all. "We've been waiting a long time doll face," a large burly man in a green and purple pinstripe suit snarled at Jenny Grant, who was dressed in a green outfit composed of a boxy jacket with no collar, a cloche hat, and a straight skirt that went down to mid-calf.

"Oh don't worry, sweetie, he'll be here," she assured him.

There was a knock at the door and when it was opened a bald behemoth of a man in a green and black pinstripe suit escorted Robert Drake into the room wearing a business suit composed of a black sports coat, a crisp white shirt, a black tie, black slacks with a matching belt, and black shoes. He carried a black faux leather briefcase. His left wrist was covered by a large black and red wristwatch with an opaque black face. "Gentlemen," the man posing as a negotiator purred. "I believe I'm expected."

"Go get yourself a magazine doll," the man in the green and purple pinstripe suit purred. "It's time for some man talk."

"You got it, honey," Jenny winked as she left the room. Outside the board room, she went straight to the elevator and pushed the 'down' button.

"Is this everyone Mister Bronson?" Robert Drake asked. "I only agreed to be here if all interested parties are involved. Otherwise it's a waste of time."

"O' course we're all here," 'Machinegun' Bronson growled. "Sully why don't you introduce Mister Smith t' th' boys. Once he's met all o' th' players in person we kin get down t' business…"

"O' course, Mac," an old man in a beige suit purred as he rose shakily to his feet. "C'mon Mister Smith, they're a great bunch o' fellas. Why I served a stretch with each o' these guys myself…"

* * *

In the meantime, Jenny Grant got off on the ground floor and left the building trotting at as fast as her green stiletto heels could carry her. "Taxi!" she cried as headed straight to a taxi stand. A man in a brown suit and matching hat managed to reach it before her. "Hey Mister! That's my cab!" she protested as she seized his arm with her green gloved hands to keep him from entering the taxi.

"Sorry Miss, but I was here first," he smirked.

"No, I don't think you fully understand," she frowned as extracted a switchblade from her jacket and held it at his throat. "I said 'that's my cab," she repeated through clenched teeth.

"Uh… I really think I should wait for another one…" the pedestrian mumbled.

"Yeah, me too," she said as squeezed past him and got into the back seat. "Good boy," she added as she shut the door. "Driver, take me to the corner of Bleeker Street and Houston, let's go."

"Are you sure?" the driver asked. "That'll take us clear outta th' dome lady."

"Yes!" Jenny hissed as she nervously glanced at the building she had just left. "Out of the dome, I don't care where you take me, let's just get as far away as possible, and step on it! What are you, both deaf and stupid? Just go! Why don't you step on all of pedals! Maybe one of them means 'go'!" she shrieked.

"Okay lady, you don't gotta bite my head off," the driver protested as he started the car. "Geeze," he grunted as the cab pulled away from the curb.

* * *

Back in the boardroom Robert Drake finally had the floor.

"Gentlemen, in all of my years as a negotiator I don't think I've ever been introduced to a more interesting cast of characters," the black clad young man smiled. "We all have such interesting nicknames: 'Machinegun' Bronson, 'Thumbs' Meeker, Roger the Negotiator. We seem to be defined by what the city calls us, but that's not who we are. It's easy to let misconceptions divide, but let's get to know each other and see what unites us. Now when I look around this room I don't see rivals, I don't see enemies; I don't see people with differences. Every one of you is the same."

His voice became a lot less friendly. "The entire bunch of you are nothing but criminals, united by your greed and utter lack of morals. The thing that unites you is that each of you lacks the business acumen or administrative skills necessary to replace your predecessors, who were equally greedy and morally bankrupt but at least had a higher education. After what you've done to his city, my only regret is that your deaths won't be more drawn out and painful."

"You're a dead man, Smith!" 'Machinegun' Bronson snarled as he pulled a pistol out of his coat.

As the assembled men protested and rose angrily from their chairs, Robert Drake put his watch to his lips. "Now, Big O, it's Showtime."

* * *

Outside the motorists and pedestrians of the central dome were alarmed when the ground began shaking. They were terrified and running for cover as the Cranston Building peeled like a banana to crumble away and reveal an ungainly metal giant towering over fifty feet tall. The head of Big O was an impassive face topped by a red crystalline crown that was dwarfed by the megadeus' barrel shaped body. The top of its chest was covered by a red collar. Two vaguely humanoid legs supported its bulk. The enormous arms of the megadeus were in reality massive piledrivers with huge mechanical hands instead of chisels. One of its hands was raised high above it and clenched in a fist as if celebrating or defying the very heavens.

After a dramatic pause, the black metal colossus opened its fist to reveal Robert Drake standing triumphantly in its palm. "Flattened like insects. A fitting end for their kind," he smirked. "Now the real work begins." He pressed a stud on his wristwatch and Big O moved its palm so that it was held up to where its neck would be. The red collar rose to obscure the face and Robert was shocked to see R Dorothy Wayneright sitting in the control chair as if she owned it.

* * *

On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:

 _Next: A Gentleman Doesn't Use Guns_


End file.
